Making the Least of It

I've been made acutely aware of how little freedom I have since my work got popular on the internet. If you never do or say anything to stand out, you may confuse your invisibility for freedom, but I know better. My choices these days are almost nonexistent. I may step outdoors to be surrounded by whole brigades of assassins or I may stay in my room where I must submit, day and night, to the ceaseless signal of my neighbour's TV like a character from Orwell's 1984. And while I finally managed to quit smoking, which is an impressive demonstration of my free will, the non-smokers who so severely chastised me before can't seem to find it in their hearts now to offer me even the slightest courtesy. I wrote earlier that power is the enemy of freedom. By this logic, freedom itself can be an enemy of freedom, depending on who has it. What is a corrupt broadcaster's freedom, for instance? It is the freedom to broadcast my comedy and poetry as his own and to make the world think that I'm a fraud. It is the freedom to continue raising suspicions about my copyright claims even after his stars and staff go to prison. And what was Mick Jagger's and Keith Richard's freedom? It was the freedom to be the stars of my songs so they could stay attractive to young girls in their old age. And look where their freedom has left me after ten solid years on the internet. Much of what I share here in my little Blogger account is plainly obvious and yet it stands out on the internet. This is because no one ever wants to admit it out loud or even in silence. We blind ourselves to such troubling facts as those I've been forced to discuss, in order to trick ourselves into thinking that we're well off. Commercial broadcasting helps us along with this self deception, ever painting rosy pictures of happy endings in our shopper's paradise. Parents don't want to tell their children that they are due for painful suffering. Neighbours don't want to admit that they're counting on me to commit suicide. Women don't want to admit that I cause them to become intensely sexually aroused. And by closing our eyes to all this truth, we confine ourselves to an intellectual prison cell. 3:14pm: I'm dragged back against my will to add more to this post about the scarcity of freedom in our world. On the way here I had to steer my eyes away from billboards that taunt me with reminders of who owns everything, as I retreated into the silence afforded by my silicone earplugs to escape the unwelcome comments of malicious strangers on the industry payroll. Who needs Plath's bell jar in a place like this? And this is the life I get for expressing myself freely on the internet when I criticize stars and broadcasters for stealing my property and assaulting my image. They sure make me pay a high price for my freedom in this free society. Freedom suits me because I have a mind of my own. There would be no point to my freedom otherwise. Free people like me think for themselves. And we tend to rebel against authority because we don't need it. I doubt that truly free people would allow broadcasters to dictate news stories through the TV and radio. Nor would they wish to conform like foot soldiers to fashion trends. So why do we behave this way in the free world? I think it is largely out of fear. In school, for example, trapped amid countless peers, a student feels overwhelming pressure to blend in. (Yes, freedom takes courage.) After graduating, other pressures may arise to negate his freedom, such as those of wedlock. Is freedom desirable? As far as I can gather from Genesis, Adam and Eve were prisoners of perfection in the Garden of Eden. They enjoyed a blissful ignorance, very much like the animals which surrounded them. Then they exercised their free will by eating of the forbidden fruit of knowledge and look what happened: everything turned to shit, and it's been nothing but wars and plagues for us ever since. We can't even skinny dip anymore without getting into trouble. I sensed my freedom most under attack by the crimes committed against my works of the heart: my music, comedy, and poetry. This is because my heart is the holder of my freedom. When I review a video of myself reciting Part VII of my poem, the Mammals, for instance, why am I invaded by the image of Tina Fey? This is a serious breach of my freedom, a poet's freedom, and I am far from the only one to be hurt by it. Without the freedom for a poet to simply say he wrote his poems and songs and blogs, as those wicked broadcasters would apparently prefer us to be, we may have no freedom at all.
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